ger.

"Surely, surely, slumber is more sweet than toil, the shore
Than labor in the deep mid-ocean, wind, and wave, and oar,
Then rest ye, brother mariners, we will not wander more!"

Not so! for here comes a great warship out of the East under a press
of canvas. What event is this? See! she clews up her light sails and
fires an eleven-inch gun! One of those guns of Mobile Bay. Then swarms
out the starboard watch, one hundred and sixty strong, and a fleet of
boats brings ashore these pale astronomers with those useless tubes
that they point at the sky every night. But there are useful things
too; cooking-stoves, and lumber, and bricks.

What is all this? No sooner are these established than comes another
ship and fires its gun! and another set of hardy sailormen pours out,
and here is another party of madmen with tubes,--yes, and with
cooking-stoves and lumber, too. Then comes the crowning, stupendous,
and unspeakable event. The whole sun is hidden and the heavens are
lighted up with pearly streamers! In the name of all the Polynesian
gods, what is the meaning of all this?

And then in a few days all these are gone. All the madmen. They have
taken away the useless tubes, but they have left their houses
standing. Their splendid, priceless, precious cook-stoves are here.
See! here is a frying-pan! here are empty tin cans! and a keg of
nails! They must have forgotten all this, madmen as they are!

And the little island sinks back to its quiet and its calm. The lagoon
lies placid like a mirror. The slow sea breaks eternally on the outer
reef. The white clouds sail over day by day. The seabirds come back to
their haunts,--the fierce man-of-war birds, the gentle, soft-eyed
tern. But we, whose island home was thus invaded--are we the same? Was
this a dream? Will it happen again next year? every year? What indeed
was it that happened,--or in fact, did it happen at all? Is it not a
dream, indeed?

If we left those peaceful Kanakas to their dream, we Americans have
brought ours away with us. Who will forget it? Which of us does not
wish to be in that peaceful fairyland once more? That is the personal
longing. But we have all come back, each one with his note-books full;
and in a few weeks the stimulus of accustomed habit has taken
possession of us again. Right and wrong are again determined by
"municipal sanctions." We have become useful citizens once more.
Perhaps it is just as well. We should have been poor poets,